Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

Blood Status: 
Pureblood, but with unacceptable pro-Muggle 
leanings. Known member of the Order of the 
Phoenix. 
Family: 
Wife (pureblood), seven children, two 
youngest at Hogwarts. NB: Youngest son 
currently at home, seriously ill, Ministry 
inspectors have confirmed. 
Security Status: 
TRACKED. All movements are being 
monitored. Strong likelihood Undesirable No. 
1 will contact (has stayed with Weasley 
family previously) 
“Undesirable Number One,” Harry muttered under his breath as he replaced Mr. 
Weasley’s folder and shut the drawer. He had an idea he knew who that was, and sure 
enough, as he straightened up and glanced around the office for fresh hiding places he 
saw a poster of himself on the wall, with the words UNDESIRABLE NO. 1 emblazoned 
across his chest. A little pink note was stuck to it with a picture of a kitten in the corner. 
Harry moved across to read it and saw that Umbridge had written, “To be punished.” 
Angrier than ever, he proceeded to grope in the bottoms of the vases and baskets 
of dried flowers, but was not at all surprised that the locket was not there. He gave the 
office one last sweeping look, and his heart skipped a beat. Dumbledore was staring at 
him from a small rectangular mirror, propped up on a bookcase beside the desk. 
Harry crossed the room at a run and snatched it up, but realized that the moment 
he touched it that it was not a mirror at all. Dumbledore was smiling wistfully out of the 

---

front cover of a glossy book. Harry had not immediately noticed the curly green writing 
across his hat – The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore – nor the slightly smaller writing 
across his chest: “by Rita Skeeter, bestselling author of Armando Dippet: Master or 
Moron?” 
Harry opened the book at random and saw a full-page photograph of two teenage 
boys, both laughing immoderately with their arms around each other’s shoulders. 
Dumbledore, now with elbow-length hair, had grown a tiny wispy beard that recalled the 
one on Krum’s chin that had so annoyed Ron. The boy who roared in silent amusement 
beside Dumbledore had a gleeful, wild look about him. His golden hair fell in curls to his 
shoulders. Harry wondered whether it was a young Doge, but before he could check the 
caption, the door of the office opened. 
If Thicknesse had not been looking over his shoulder as he entered, Harry would 
not have had time to pull the Invisibility Cloak over himself. As it was, he thought 
Thicknesse might have caught a glimpse of movement, because for a moment or two he 
remained quite still, staring curiously at the place where Harry had just vanished. Perhaps 
deciding that that all he had seen was Dumbledore scratching his nose on the front of the 
book, for Harry had hastily replaced it upon the shelf. Thicknesse finally walked to the 
desk and pointed his wand at the quill standing ready in the ink pot. It sprang out and 
began scribbling a note to Umbridge. Very slowly, hardly daring to breathe, Harry 
backed out of the office into the open area beyond. 
The pamphlet-makers were still clustered around the remains of the Decoy 
Detonator, which continued to hoot feebly as it smoked. Harry hurried off up the corridor 
as the young witch said, “I bet it sneaked up here from Experimental Charms, they’re so 
careless, remember that poisonous duck?” 
Speeding back toward the lifts, Harry reviewed his options. It had never been 
likely that the locket was here at the Ministry, and there was no hope of bewitching its 
whereabouts out of Umbridge while she was sitting in a crowded court. Their priority 
now had to be to leave the Ministry before they were exposed, and try again another day. 
The first thing to do was to find Ron, and then they could work out a way of extracting 
Hermione from the courtroom. 
The lift was empty when it arrived. Harry jumped in and pulled off the Invisibility 
Cloak as it started its descent. To his enormous relief, when it rattled to a halt at level two, 
a soaking-wet and wild-eyed Ron got in. 
“M-morning,” he stammered to Harry as the lift set off again. 
“Ron, it’s me, Harry!” 
“Harry! Blimey, I forgot what you looked like – why isn’t Hermione with you?” 
“She had to go down to the courtrooms with Umbridge, she couldn’t refuse, and –
“ 
But before Harry could finish the lift had stopped again. The doors opened and 
Mr. Weasley walked inside, talking to an elderly witch whose blonde hair was teased so 
high it resembled an anthill. 
“… I quite understand what you’re saying, Wakanda, but I’m afraid I cannot be 
party to – “ 
Mr. Weasley broke off; he had noticed Harry. It was very strange to have Mr. 
Weasley glare at him with that much dislike. The lift doors closed and the four of them 
trundled downward once more. 

---

“Oh hello, Reg,” said Mr. Weasley, looking around at the sound of steady 
dripping from Ron’s robes. “Isn’t your wife in for questioning today? Er – what’s 
happened to you? Why are you so wet?” 
“Yaxley’s office is raining,” said Ron. He addressed Mr. Weasley’s shoulder, and 
Harry felt sure he was scared that his father might recognize him if they looked directly 
into each other’s eyes. “I couldn’t stop it, so they’ve sent me to get Bernie – Pillsworth, I 
think they said –“ 
“Yes, a lot of offices have been raining lately,” said Mr. Weasley. “Did you try 
Meterolojinx Recanto? It worked for Bletchley.” 
“Meteolojinx Recanto?” whispered Ron. “No, I didn’t. Thanks, D – I mean, 
thanks, Arthur.” 
The lift doors opened; the old witch with the anthill hair left, and Ron darted past 
her out of sight. Harry made to follow him, but found his path blocked as Percy Weasley 
strode into the lift, his nose buried in some papers he was reading. 
Not until the doors had clanged shut again did Percy realize he was in a lit with 
his father. He glanced up, saw Mr. Weasley, turned radish red, and left the lift the 
moment the doors opened again. For the second time, Harry tried to get out, but this time 
found his way blocked by Mr. Weasley’s arm. 
“One 
moment, 
Runcorn.” 
The lift doors closed and as they clanked down another floor, Mr. Weasley said, 
“I hear you had information about Dirk Cresswell.” 
Harry had the impression that Mr. Weasley’s anger was no less because of the 
brush with Percy. He decided his best chance was to act stupid. 
“Sorry?” 
he 
said. 
“Don’t pretend, Runcorn,” said Mr. Weasley fiercely. “You tracked down the 
wizard who faked his family tree, didn’t you?” 
“I – so what if I did?” said Harry. 
“So Dirk Cresswell is ten times the wizard you are,” said Mr. Weasley quietly, as 
the lift sank ever lower. “And if he survives Azkaban, you’ll have to answer to him, not 
to mention his wife, his sons, and his friends –“ 
“Arthur,” Harry interrupted, “you know you’re being tracked, don’t you?” 
“Is that a threat, Runcorn?” said Mr. Weasley loudly. 
“No,” said Harry, “it’s a fact! They’re watching your every move –“ 
The lift doors opened. They had reached the Atrium. Mr. Weasley gave Harry a 
scathing look and swept from the lift. Harry stood there, shaken. He wished he was 
impersonating somebody other than Runcorn…. The lift doors clanged shut. 
Harry pulled out the Invisibility Cloak and put it back on. He would try to 
extricate Hermione on his own while Ron was dealing with the raining office. When the 
doors opened, he stepped out into a torch-lit stone passageway quite different from the 
wood-paneled and carpeted corridors above. As the left rattled away again, Harry 
shivered slightly, looking toward the distant black door that marked the entrance to the 
Department of Mysteries. 
He set off, his destination not the black door, but the doorway he remembered on 
the left hand side, which opened onto the flight of stairs down to the court chambers. His 
mind grappled with possibilities as he crept down them: He still had a couple of Decoy 
Detonators, but perhaps it would be better to simply knock on the courtroom door, enter 

---

as Runcorn, and ask for a quick word with Mafalda? Of course, he did not know whether 
Runcorn was sufficiently important to get away with this, and even if he managed it, 
Hermione’s non-reappearance might trigger a search before they were clear of the 
Ministry…. 
Lost in thought, he did not immediately register the unnatural chill that was 
creeping over him, as if he were descending into fog. It was becoming colder and colder 
with every step he took; a cold that reached right down his throat and tore at his lungs. 
And then he felt that stealing sense of despair, or hopelessness, filling him, expanding 
inside him….